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s.c.f,ert Volftg.
[From the Lancaster Union.]
MY PRAYER.
E=
Father of all things, God of love,
near me from thy throne above
And grant my humble prayer
I do not ask for power and wealth,
For palaces and gold,
I do not wish for slaves and pelf,
Or grandeur when I'm old.
But give me wisdom from abovo,
And purity of mind,
Truth, self-denial, virtue, love,
ana all that's good and kind.
That man may love his fellow-man,
That knowledge may increase,
That charity with broadest span
3lay 'stablish us in peace. ••
And when my race is almost run,
And " dust to dust's" in view,
0, may I say Thy will ho done,
And faith and hope renew.
3. ci elect s,lt.tinl.
IMlWrir:V'T"tqr . t. ,7MrXq
" Dreams are but children of an idle brain,
Begot of nothing but fain fantasy."
So saith Shakespeare; but what may hold
good in some :cases does not hold good in all
cases, otherwise there would be general rules
without exceptions, and that is held by logi
cians to be morally impossible. With me, a
dream is a dream, and there is an end on't ;
but not so with everybody. There are some
men in this world who attach considerable
importance to the "baseless fabric" of a
dream which flits unbidden through the
brain ; and thelieve as a general thing, it is
conceded that the female portion of humani
ty has an abiding faith in dreams, whether
they be of good or evil import. Why this
should be so, I am not prepared to say, and
Jeave the question to those deeper tersed in
human nature than I am, for a solution, but
I do say that the most intelligent lady that I
ever was acquainted with was a firm believer
in the foreshadowing of dreams.
. Come to think of it, the greatest affront I
ever gave a lady was owing to a dream.—
She was past a certain age, and used to an
noy me by asking me what `'sign" it was to
dream of this or that?—just as if I was a
second Joseph, whose special mission was to
interpret dreams. I bore it with great 'good
humor for a lung time, but my patience fi
nally gave away and I ended the nuisance
summarily.
One evening I was one of a select company
assembled in a parlor, and we were having
"a time of it generally." ... When all the or
dinary topics were exhausted, and conversa
tion began to flag, the lady in question turned
Tier vinegar face towards me, and said :
" Bvthe-by, I had a most singular dream
last night. I actually dreamed that I was
married to two husbands I Now can you tell
me what sign that is ?"
Certainly, Miss. It is a sign that you are
o - ld enough to fulfil half the dream at least."
Murder I What a malicious rascal I must
have been• in her estimation I She said noth
ing, but her eyes flashed like those of a hye
na, while her thin white lips quivered with
rage. She never asked rue to interpret anoth
er dream ; in fact, if I recollect rightly, she
did not speak to me at all for several years
after this rather free interpretation.
But, to my story of a remarkable dream;
and if there be truth in -the tale of the
dreamer—and there is no reason to doubt
his word—then, indeed, it was a remarkable
dream.
Some years ago, in a little city of the West,
lived Richard Miller. an honest, industrious,
sober shoemaker: He had emigrated from
Philadelphia a few years previous - to the open
ing of my story, with his wife and child ; and
by economy and the closest attention to busi
ness, he managed to lay up six hundred dol
lars. This sum he would undoubtedly, so
increased' as to place -himself and family be
yond the reach of want in a very few years,
had it not been for that insiduous monster,
Consumption. The fell destroyer came to
him as is' ususl in such 'cases, in a bad cold,
and for a long time he flattered himself into
the -belief that it was only a had cold; but,
like a skillful sapper' and miner, it soon un
dermined his' constitution, and,he soon began
to . have some faint . glimmering' of his real
condition.
•-• There was nti use stafingany longer in the
West, .so he- sold but his stock and fixtures,
and retUrneilto'Philadelphia, where he took .
up: his permanent abode. Having becoine
entirely to - weakltti work, lie spent his days in',
that inactiVe, but 'petulent state so common
'to consuinptiies • . •
One day he' took it.into his head ta'consult
an eminent physician=--bne of the Professors
of a needirat Colleg r e--L..-iii order to ascertain.
true conaitioe, He : called upon him 'and
stated, his case, andiiriderWent the customary
• • -
" Young "_man," Said -the' Profeasor, "vour
lungs are badly 'affected, and I am only deal
ing frankly- with you when I say that, in my
,opinion,- you are not long for this'World 1"
Miller's-heart sank within him as he beard
bis doom. Ile had the most implicit cenfi
deuce in the Professor ; -and, as he thought
of his wife and child, he felt very much as
if for the future the .‘” ,. .r14 would-be black to
bim. .
"Did you ever drink whiskey ?" inquired
'the Doctor as he paced the room.
"Never except upon one or perhaps two oc
.caerions," said Miller;
'Km can keep:yourself alive two years—
probably three.--by the moderate use of whis
key. It is a dangerotis prescription, but in
giving it to you, I have reason to believe that
you will not ' let' it obtain the mastery over
you. Get the best whiskey you can buy, and
dtitik a pint of it a day."
' Veer ready •to grasp at the merest
$1 50
7.)
50
WILLIAM LEWIS,
VOL. XI V.
shadow of relief, went to a liquor store and
purchased a demijohn of Bourbon whiskey,
and commenced to 'take doses of it at inter
vals throughout the day.
A year rolled away, and Miller was much
improved. His cough was easier, and the
stimulous appeared to impart a kind of arti
ficial strength to his body; but I regret to
say, his appetite, which never before craved
alcoholic drinks, had assumed an abnormal
condition, to appease, which it now required
net less than a quart per diem. He felt that
he was not doing much toward retarding his
march down to the grave; but the heavy
doses of alcaholic stimulous invested the past,
present and future with a feeling of oblivi
ousness that was quite a relief to his melan
choly broodings over his misery when he was
properly himself.
When, in this state, Miller loved solitude;
and he.'frequently walked as far away from
home as his strength would permit him—
generally in the neighborhood of the brick
yards, in the south-western part of the city.
•One day having-extended his walk beyond
his usual limits, and being overtaken by a
thunder-storm; when he reached the• brick
yards, he took shelter under the shed of one
them. Having drank an unusual quantity of
whiskey during the day, he fell asleep upon
the wheelbarow, on which he was resting,
while the storm was still raging; nor did he
awake .until the dawn of the next day. " At
first he was mystified ; but he soon recalled
to his recollection the storm and the brick
yard, and feeling somewhat dowsy, he com
posed himself for another nap. It is uncer
tain how long he slept--:-probably not over
half an hour—but during that time he had a
remarkable vision. He dreamed out the
principles of a machine for the manufacture
of brick—a machine that would, in great meas
ure, supercede all hand labor. Every wheel,
or cog and casting passed through his brain,
and in his dream he even saw the machine in
practical operation. When he awoke it was
quite light, and he hastened toward his
home. His mind was entirely taken up with
the machine, his dream having evident made
an impression upon him as indellible as any
idea ever conceived in his most wakeful hours.
Lang before he reached his home, he resolved
to carry out the spirit of the dream. After
breakfast he made the necessary preparations
to work out a model. The obstacles that in
terposed were legion, but he overcame them all.
Tools that he could not borrow lie bought,
and it was now that he went to work most
patiently and preseveringly, paying very little
attention. to the whiskey, as his whole soul
appeared, to be wrapped up in one grand ob
ject.
His wife, from the very beginning of his
work, thought that his mind was giving way ;
and the poor, patient, enduring woman, find
ing their stock of money rapidly decreasing,
took in sewing, while he sawed, planed and
chisled at his model. He grew morose, and
seldom spoke. Sometimes he would gaze ab
stractedly upon the model for a long time,
and then, as if re-insured, be would go to
work again with renewed energy ; and so he
continued for many long and weary weeks
until the model was finally completed, and
stood before him perfect in all its parts. As
he worked at it in the presence of his wife,
a gleam of satisfaction sat upon his counte
nance, and he smiled. It was the first smile
that had illuminated his countenance since
he had been at work on the model. Ile car
ried it off to a finished mechanic, who en
gaged to make a fine duplicate for twenty
dollars ; and when he had finished his job,
the wife saw him take that amount from their
slender store more - in sorrow than in anger,
but she knew the utter fallacy of protest
ing.
Richard Miller now for the first time con
sulted a friend in the matter ;
_and that friend
having had some experience in procuring
patents, gave him the benefit of his knowl
edge. To procure the patent would cost
thirty dollars more. This alarmed Miller;
but the patent must be had, and that amount
went. In due time the letters patent arrived,
and he had the rough model and the docu
ment—nothing more. Out of them it would
be next to impossible to realize anything.—
No, he must have a machine capable of work
ing. He felt satisfied that nothing short of
a machine would enable him to dispose of his
.right. But how to get a machine built was
a question which puzzled him sadly. No
one capable of making a machine would un
dertake the job for less than one hundred
dollars. Alas !he had no longer that sum of
money in his house. Miller was almost bor
dering on despair when one of the mechanics
to whom he had spoken. called upon him in
order to make a more minute examination of
the model. He was eminently a practical
man, and he made a Most thorough -examina
tion, at tt r yend, of which he declared that his
_firm convidion was that the machine Vras a
great invention." At all events he, would be,
willing to build one on a - contingency. If it
failed to•work, he would 'charge nothing; if,
it answered'the expectations" of the inven
tor, then he-would charge two hundred dollars
for; the machine and risk. This was virtual
ly taking an interest in the success of the in
vention and.l,l,,ichardelosed with him. . The
mechanic was prompt and.energetic, and, put
ting his whole force to work,- in a few days
turned over, to,Miller a complete machine.
His next business was, to give the machine
a trial:- He went over to, Camden, ,where he
bad an acquaintance in the brick business,
and prevailed upon him to let the trial take
place at his yard.-the next day at I.l,o'clock.
The proprietor.had, very little faith in the.
machine, but, .as he, had a large lot of bricks
for ,sale ,he was willing to submit to almost
anything to-attract attention to his yard: To
this end- he slyly inserted an advertisement
in several.of.thedaily papers of Philadelphia,
announcing the trial of a. wonderful patent
brick machine, naming the time and place—
which, of course, he „thought would only. be
another addition to the long catalogue of fail
ures in that line of inventions.
Next day Miller partook of an early break
fast, and then possessed himself of the last
dollar in the house, to pay currant expenses.
He bade his wife be of good cheer—that he
thought-he should return before night with
V'
not less than five hundred dollars. The
poor woman thought it more likely that he
would return dejected, broken-hearted and
ready to die ; but she said nothing.
From his house he went direct to the ma
chine shop, and had his invention taken to
the ferry-boat, and had it safely landed, put
up and ready to operate at the appointed
hour. He knew nothing of the advertisment
in the papers, and was therefore a little sur
prised to see upwards of a hundred persons
congregated in the yard. He did not like it
for in case of failure the mortification would
only be greater ; and he consoled himself
that in case competition might spring up and
enable him to realize one thousand for his
right,- instead of five hundred dollars, at
which moderate figure he held it.
The clay having been elevated the horse
started and the machine moved. It was a
minute of intense anxiety to every one, and
and painfully so to Richard Miller. Eureka!
it was a triumph ! Mould after mould of
beautiful brick were carried from it. until in
an incredibly short space of time, a thousand
were finished and drying in the yard.
There stood Richard Miller gazing upon
his invention. It-was the full realization of
his dream in its minutest particulars. It
was the happiest moment of his life. He
was just on the point of offering the right of
making and vending the machine in the Uni
ted States-to the highest bidder, when an old
Yankee tapped him on the shoulder.
"Young man," said he, "that's a very
good machine of yours, but I see where a
very important improvement can be made.—
Under such circumstances, I will give . you fif
ty thousand dollars for your right, title and
interest in it."
Miller grasped one of the levers of his ma
chine to keep from falling. No it could not
be ; the whole thing must be a continuation
of the dream.
" How much did you say ?" asked Miller,
in doubt.
"Fifty thousand !" said the man, evidently
ready to- increase the amount if Miller de
manded it.
"I'll take it!' gasped the inventor, who
still could not believe the evidence of his sen
ses.
"Then come with me."
A few moments more and they were on
their way to Piladelphia ; and in crossing the
river, Richard Miller paid his last sixpence
he had in the world for ferriage. Once arri
ved in the city, thug urpr.#
fice of a lawyer, where the necessary papers
making a full assignment were drawn up,
Miller all the while doubting the possibility
of the man having anything like the amount
of money he offered; but still resolved in his
mind that he was safe if he gotta single thou
sand in cash and the balance in worthless
promissory notes. At length the assignment
was finished and signed, and the man hand
ed Miller a check, payable atone of the prin
cipal banks, for the entire amount, on the
back of which the attorney certified to Miller
being the owner of the check.
The patentee was still incredulous ; but
satisfied. that if the check was worthless it
would be an evidence of fraud, and the sale
not valid the papers were exchanged and he
left the office. He hastened to the bank and
presented his cheek to the paying-teller.—
That gentleman scrutinized it a moment, and
then asked him how he would have it.
Richard Miller was again nonplussed.---
He stood like a satue, gazing upon the teller
until the question was. repeated.
" Gold and silver !" said Richard.
"Gold and silver ?" said the teller, in sur
prise—" have you a dray ?"
" Beg pardon," said Miller... "Let me have
a bag of a thousand dollars in gold and silver,
and the balance in bank notes."
A bag with that amount in mixed coin
was soon placed before him, and forty-nine
packages of one thousand dollars each were
laid on the counter. Miller had by this time
in a manner regained his self-possession, and
after stuffing the notes into his pockets, he,
shouldered his bag of coin and left the bank.
As soon as he saw an omnibus he hailed it
and rode to within two squares of his home.
When he reached the latter, he staggered in
beneath his load, and walking directly to the
bed, he einptied the bag of glittering coin upon
it, to the infinite amazement of his wife.—
But what was. her astonishment when he
drew froin hiS pockets packages of bank
notes. He contained himself until he had
thrown the last package. uponthe bed, when
he gave way- to the wildest and most extrava
gant feelin s.
" Ha ! la! ha !" he laughed hysterically
—"my dream is out The machine , works !
Fifty thousand 1 Ha! ha ! ha!"
Then.sriatching up his child he continued,
pacing the room—
"My boy—you are no beggar? Fifty .
thousand !,---ha.! ha! ha I "
Thus he shouted, raved and stamped.—
Large beads of perspiration stood'on his brow,
his face looked haggard, and his eye had the
wild glare of the maniac. In vain his wife
tried to calm his agitation ; he raved until he
ruptured a bleod•vessel. He sat down in his
chair with his, child •-in his arms, the blood
gushing from his nose and mouth. He drew
back his head to indulge in at - other hysteri n
cal laugh, but it was checked by a gurgling
noise, and the next instant Richard Miller
was .a corpse ! His spirit had passed away,
in the language of Longfellow : •
"'Like the glorious roll of drutris,
In the triumph of a dream."
The reader must note that we have used
fictitious for real names. The machine,
which went under the name of the purchaser,
made him - an independent fortune and is
still in use but others, better adapted to the
age in which we live, have nearly crowded it
out of the market. Sunday Dispatch.
An old lady, on being witnessed be
fore a magistrate As to her place of legal set
tlement, was asked what reason she had for
supposing.her husband had a legal settle
ment in that town. The old lady-said
" He was born and married, and they buried
him there, and if that ain't settling him there,
I don't know what, is,"
--PErSERE.--
HUNTINGDON, PA4TANUARY 26, 1859.
King Solomon's Blacksmith.
it came to pass when Solomon, son of
ttvid, had finished the temple of Jerusalem,
lat he called unto him the chief architects,
le head artificers and cunning workers in
ver and gold and in wood and. in ivory and
One—yea, all who aided in working on the
naple of the Lord, and he said unto them :
\" Sit you down at my table; have prepared
deast for all my chief-workers and artificers.
etch forth your hands, therefore, and eat and
likik and be merry. Is not the laborer wor
iy' of his hire ? Is not the skillful artificer
pserving of honor ? Muzzle not the ox that
eadeth out the corn."
! And when solomon and the chief workmen
ere seated, and the fatness of the land and
ie oil thereof were set upon the table, there
Arne one who knocked at the door, and for
-4i himself even into the festal chamber.—
'llen Solomon, the King, was wroth and said,
"Vhat manner of man art thou?
And the man answered and said : "When
>ren wish to honor me they call me Son of
brge ; but when they desire to mock me
bey call me blacksmith ; and seeing that
ite toil of working in fire covers me with
Feat and smut, the latter name, 0 King, is
bt inapt, and in truth thy servant desires no
otter."
z" But said Solomon, "why came thou thus
dely, and unbidden to the feast, where none
Etve the chief workman of the Temple are
invited ?"
\" Please ye my lord, I came rudely," re
pied the man, because thy servant obliged
u to force my way ; but I came not unbid
din. Was it not proclaimed that the chief
wwkmen of the Temple were to dine with
tie King of Israel ?"
Phen, he who carved the cherubim said :
"cliis fellow is no sculptor."
And be who inlaid the roof with pure gold,
said : "Neither is he a workman in fine met
als.'
And be who raised the walls, said : "lie
is 1:ot a cutter of stone." -
4nd he who made the roof, cried out :
•' Ile is not cunning in cedar wood ; neither
knoweth he the mystery of uniting pieces of
strange timber together."
Then said Soloman :
" What bast thou to say, Son of the Forge,
why I should not order thee to be plucked by
the beard with a scourge, and stoned to death
with stones ?"
When the Son of the Forge heard this, he
'io cu -;:z1 uu WLL o.Lsal2lyeLl , buL, LO
the table, snatched up and swallowed a cup
of wine, and said:
" 0 King, live forever ! The chief men of
the workers in wood and gold and stone, have
said that I am not of them, and they have
said truly. lam their superior, before they
lived, was I created. lam their master, and
they are all my servants. And he turned
him around, and said to the chief of the car
vers of stone :
" Who made the tools with which you
carve ?"
And he said: "The blacksmith."
And he said to the chief of the workers in
wood :
" Who made the tools with which you
hewed the Trees of Lebanon, and formed
them into pillars and roof for the Temple 2"
And he said: " The blacksmith."
Then he said to the artificer in gold and
ivory:
"Who makes your instruments by which
you work beautiful things for my Lord and
King ?"
And be said : " The blacksmith."
•" Enough, enough, my good fellow," said
Solomon, " thou bast proved that I invited
thee, and thou art all men's father in art.—
Go wash the smut of the forge from thy face,
and come and sit at my right hand. The
chiefs of my workmen are but men—thou art
more."
So it happened at the feast of Solomon,
and blacksmiths have been honored ever
since.—London Magazine. •
Fifty Cents for Lodging.
One Of our citizens who loves his joke
about as well as folks usually do, had occa
sion to visit one of the small towns in the in
terior of the State, and knowing that he
would have considerable walking over muddy
roads, he took with him a pair of long india
rubber boots. He arrived at his destination
about nine o'clock in the evening, and upon
inquiry, he found that the only tavern in the
place was half a mile from the station. No
conveyance was to be had, and the road was
extremely muddy. Congratulating himself
on having his long boots, he set off, and found
the mud so deep in some spots that his boots
were barely long enough ! At last he reach
ed the hotel, but with awful muddy boots.
After supper, he inquired the charge for lodg-,
ing.
"We usually charge," answered the land
lord, who also had some fun in his composi
tion, " twenty-five cents ; but if a man goes
to bed with such boots as them on," pointing
to his customer's feet, "we charge him fifty
cents."
" A very good idea, I Should think," re
turned the traveller.
After an hour's conversation, the landlord
showed him to his room, and they parted for
the night, mutually pleased with each other.
The next morning; our friend arose late, and
inquiring for the landlord, learned that he
was gone from home to attend to some busi
ness. After breakfast, he handed a dollar
to the landlord's wife, saying :
" There is fifty cents for my supper and
breakfast, and fifty cents for my lodging
" Twenty-five cents is all we charge for
lodging," said the landlady.
" Yes," returned the traveller, "under or
dinary:. circumstances ! but in this case, fifty
cents is not too much."
The stranger departed, and the lady was
deep in conjecture as to what could be the
circumstance which required a man to pay
double price for lodging, when her husband
returned.
" Has that man who slept in the front
chamber come down yet ?" he asked.
' " Yes," answered his wife, " and he bas
gone away. He paid fifty cents for his lodg-
.::::•::.
1
• •
4: :.
r •
',..,.. . ~... -=•,,,F,
4,,.. --. .f.:....
~.t.',...,%.,. '-'-':'..... •
NI :, .
ing, and said, under the circumstances, it was
right."
" The deuce he did I" exclaimed the land
lord, rushing up stairs. His wife followed to
learn the meaning of such strange proceed
ings, and found her- husband. with the bed
clothes turned down, and her best bed look
ing more fit to plant potatoes in, than for any
human being to sleep in.
" You saw that man when he came here
last night ?" said the husband.
"Yes."
" And you saw his boots, didn't you ?"
" Yes."
"Well," said the landlord, "the infernal
cuss slept in 'ern."
A few days after, the traveler, on his re
turn home, put up again at the same tavern.
Neither himself nor the landlord said any
thing about the boots, which were in about
the same condition as on the previous occa
sion ; but the landlord looked daggers at him,
and eyed his boots with much anxiety. About
ten o'clock, the traveler said he would retire.
" And, by the way, landlord," said he, with
a merry twinkle in his eye, " what do you
usually charge for lodging?"
"'We charge," answered the landlord, with
a most tremendous emphasis, " twenty-five
cents !"
How beautiful is the memory of the dead!
What a holy thing it is in the heart, and what
a correcting influence it sheds upon human
life. How it subdues all harshness that
springs,up in the daily intercourse with the
world. How it dissolves our unkindness and
softens our pride; kindling our deepest love,
and waking our highest asperations. Is there
one here on earth, that has not some loved
friend gone into the eternal world, with whom
he delights to live again in memory? Does
he not love to sit down in the hushed and
tranquil hours of his life, and call around
-him the face, the form so familiar ; to look
into the eyes that once beamed with the light
of life; to listen to the tones that once were
melody to his ear ? How friend follows
friend to the happy dwelling place of the
dead, till we find that those who once loved
us here, but who now love us on the heavenly
shore, number more than those that are left
' with us. Every passing year witnesses the
departure of some one whom we knew and
loved, and when we recall to mind the names
of those who have been dear to us in life,
how .many_we find have passed into that city
which is imperishable. The dead! How
free from blot is our love for them ! We now
have no fear of losing them. They are fixed
for us eternally in the mansions prepared for
our reunion. We shall find them waiting for
us in their garments of beauty. The blessed
dead ! how reverently we speak their names.
Our hearts are softened by their words, which
we remember. How joyous they have be
come by drinking freely of the never dying
fountains of pleasure. How unchanging is
their love for us. How earnestly they entreat
us, and how compassionately they look down
upon us. Let us pleasantly talk of the dead,
as of those who no longer endure suffering
and toil—as of those who no longer pursue
things that are fleeting, but have taken hold
and secured the real. With them the fear
and the longing, the hope, and the terror, are
all passed ; a, new and everlasting life has
begun. How unkind in us, that, when we
put away their bodies, we should cease to
give utterance to their names ; to let them be
forgotten as though nought but a dream, that
had lingered around us while wrapt in rosy
slumber. Dear, yes, very dear were they,
when hand clasped hand, and heart respon
ded to heart. Why are they less dear, when
they have grown worthy a higher love than
ours, and their souls made so perfect, they
might almost receive our adoration ? By the
fireside, and by the graveside, in solitude,
and amid the multitude, think cheeringly and
speak lovingly of the immortal dead, who
have grown wise in the boundless fields of
truth and wisdom. They have but passed
through the valley of death, and we are but
left to linger on the shores of time for a short
period, when we with willing hearts, will
gladly follow. And till then, may we bear
in mind
"That blessed pnimises of a heaven of rest,
Where no sorrow invades the human breast,
Where the stars that have dawned
Through the shades of the east,
Will light up with beauty, the valley of Peace,"
" Mother, mother, kiss!" pleaded a little
cherub boy, with blue eyes, anxiously search
ing his mother's unusually serious face, as
she tenderly laid him upon his soft, warm
bed, and lovingly folded the snowy drapery
about him. "Do kiss me, mother l" And
the rosy lips began to tremble, the tear-drops
to gather in the pleading, up-turned eyes,
and the little bosom heaves with struggling
emotion.
"My little son has been naughty to-day,"
replies the mother, sadly ; " how can I kiss
those lips that have spoken such angry
words 2 1 •
Too much, too much ! Dutiful mother, re
lent ! The little heart is swelling, breaking
with grief; tumultuous sobs break from the
agitated bosom ; the snow-white pillow is
drenched with penitent tears, and the little
dimpled hand is extended so imploringly.—
Relent !
'Tis enough ! Once more the little head is
pillowed upon the maternal bosom—once
more the little cherub form is pressed to that
mother's aching heart, and the good night
kiss of forgiveness and love is given two-fold
tenderer. A few moments and the sobbings
cease, the golden head droops, the weary eye
lids close, and the little erring one is laid
back upon his couch, penitent and humbled
by one kiss from mamma.
'What's in a kiss—a simple kiss ? Much,
very much ! More potent than the sceptre—
dearer to affection than countless wealth.—
Who has not felt its magic influence? 'Tis
the lover's tender pledge of undying constan
cy ; 'tis a bond of friendship and fidelity ;
and not only is it dear to the youthful and
ardent, but also to old age, to the withered
heart and bloomless cheek,
Editor and. Proprietor.
NO. 31.
The Dead
What's in a Kiss
The Will of a Patriot Soldier.
:Richard Montgomery was one of the bravest
and most gallant generals of the Revolution.
He was killed in the memorable attack upon
Quebec. Lately, the following copy of his
Will was discovered in some of the archieves
of the State of New York, and published :
The last Will and testament of Richard
Montgomery.
I give to my sister, Lady Banelagh, of the
Kingdom of Ireland, all my personal fortune,
for her sole use, to be disposed of as she
pleases, except such legacies as shall be here
after mentioned, all my just debts being first}''
paid. Also, I give to my said sister, my es
tate at King's *ridge, near New York, for
her sole use, and to be disposed of as she
thinks fit..
To my dear wife, Janet Montgomery, I give
my furniture, farni utensils, carriages of all
sorts, horses, cattle, slaves, books, clothes,
watch, mathematical, philosophical instru
ments and apparatus. - I also leave to my said
wife, the farm I purchased from Shavre, at
Rhineback, with houses and everything upon
it.
The ample fortune that my wife will suc
ceed to, makes it unnecessary to provide for
her in a manner suitable to her situation in
life, and adequate to the warm affection I
bear her. My dear sister's large family .
wants all I can spare. I could wish to re
commend one or two of her younger children
to my Janet's protection.
I must request my much-honored father-in
law, the Hon. Robert Livingstone, and my
brother Robert, his son, (whose good sense
arid integrity I have all confidence in,) to see
this last will and testament executed.
Though the hurry of public business, and
the want of knowledge' of the law, may ren
der this instrument incorrect, yet I believe
my intention is plain.
I hope, therefore, that no advantage will
be taken of any inaccuracy.
My brothers, whom I greatly esteem and
respect, will accept of what alone I have in
my power to give—my warmest wishes for
their happiness. ROBERT MOI3TGOSIERY.
[Three witnesses.]
And then follows this note :
CROWN POINT, August 30, 1775.
This may certify that the foregoing will
and testament of the late General Montgom
ery, was found by us among his papers, a few
days after his death, and immediately sealed
up. BENEDICT ARNOLD,
DONALD CAMPBELL.
A Happy Home.
The first year of married life is a most im
portant era in the history of husband and
wife. Generally, as it is spent, so is almost
all subsequent existence. The wife and hus
band then assimilate their views and their
desires, or else conjure up their dislikes, and
so add fuel to their prejudices and animosi
ties forever afterward.
" I have somewhere read," says Rev. Dr.
Wise in his "Bridal Greetings," of a bride
groom who gloried in his eccentricities. He
requested his bride to accompany him into
the garden a day or two after the wedding.—
He then threw a line over the roof of their
cottage. Giving his wife one end of it, he
retreated to the other side and exclaimed:—
" Pull the line I"
" I can't," she replied.
" Pull with all your might I" shouted the
whimsical husband.
But in vain were all the efforts of the•bride
to pull over the line, so long as the husband
held on the opposite end. But when he came
round, and both pulled at on end, it came
over with great ease.
"There,"said he as the line fell from the
roof, "you see how hard and ineffectual was
our labor when we pulled in opposition to
each other ; but how easy and pleasant it is
when we both pull together. It will be so,
my dear, through life. If we act together, it
will be pleasant to live. Let us, therefore,
always pull together."
In this illustration, homely as it may be,
there is sound philosophy. Husband and
wife must mutually bear and concede, if they
wish to make home a retreat of joy and bliss.
One alone cannot make home happy. There
must be union of action, sweetness of spirit,
and great forbearance and love in both hus
band and wife, to secure the great end of
happiness in the domestic circle.
ITEMS FOR HOUSEK.EEPERS.—Save all your
pieces of bread for puddings; dry, or they
will mould.
Examine your pickles, sweetmeats and every
thing put away.
Buy small quantities of cheese at a time ;
get some farmer to put down your butter in
the fall.
A hot shovel, held over varnished furni
ture, will take out white spots.
A bit of glue, dissolved in skim milk and
water, will restore rusty old crape.
Ribbons of any kind should be washed in
cold soap suds, and not rinsed.
If your flat irons are rough, rub them well
with fine salt, and it will make them smooth.
Oat straw is best for filling beds; should
be changed once a year.
If you are buying carpet, for durability,
choose small figures:
A bit of soap rubbed on the hinges of a
door will prevent their creaking.
Scotch snuff put on the holes where crick
ets come out will destroy them.
Wood ashes and common salt, wet with
water, will stop the cracks of a stove, and
prevent the smoke from escaping.
Green should be the prevailing color of bed
hangings and window drapery.
A. gallon of strong lye put in a barrel of
hard water will make it as soft as rain water.
Half a cranberry bound on a corn will soon
kill it.
PLEASANT INCIDENT.-At the funeral of a
little babe in New Sharon, a few days since,
says the Gospel Banner, a circumstance oc
curred, remarkably cheering and sugges
tive :
." The little one, all beautifully robed for
the grave, was laid in its coffin on the• morn
ing of its burial. The weeping friends pla
ced in its hand a small boquet of flowers,
among which was an unopened rose-bud of
the "Rose of Sharon." The lid was then
placed on the coffin, and the funeral service
performed. When after the lapse of notmoro
than two or three hours, the coffin was opened
again, and the friends gathered round to look
upon it for the last time, that bud had become
a full blown rose, while grasped in the cold
hand of death. It seemed as though a voice
came up from those beautifully sealed lips,
saying. "Weep not for me ; though broken
from the parent stem I am blooming in the
Paradise of God. Millions of infant souls
compose the family above.'"
ger-A friend asked a Dutchman what
kind of a Winter he though we should have.
The Dutchman drawing himself up with an air
of philosophical equanimity, and an oacular
soap of the eye, said; "I think she will be
worry cold dis Winter or worry hot—one of
them both."